


What Awaits Beyond the Haze

by neonbjorn



Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst, Death, Drugs, Dystopian, Eventual Romance, Multi, NSFW, Romance, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25301860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonbjorn/pseuds/neonbjorn
Summary: A way to incorporate my original characters.
Kudos: 2





	1. Silhouette

**Author's Note:**

> A way to incorporate my original characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short prologue and short first chapter. enjoy ^^

_**Prologue** _

An eye for an eye will make the world blind. Simple yet powerful to say. The philosophy of it is so simple yet so complex. Not all will understand the meaning and only follow through half of it.

_An eye for an eye_

We all perceive the world differently. Whether it is right or not you cannot change one's view on how they view the world. The haze that can cloud one's judgment of the world is grand, it is inevitable. This causes undesirable outcomes.

_No war is inevitable until it breaks out_

* * *

_**Chapter One** _

A Silhouette can be seen within the shadows of a large empty room. Not much can be seen beside the outlines of the Silhouette. The moonlight shines through the windows and reflects off the slim opening on the marble floor. Just barely where the moonlight hits, an expensive wooden desk can be seen. The only light source is the screens that emanate a tint of blue. The Silhouette walks closer to its desk and its attention focuses on the screen. It'll be only moments till the screen turns the color red. The screen reads that two men, Jackson Lee and Robert Jones, is dead. Assassinated. It looks to be the two was former associates. _It_ continues to walk towards the window and once there, it stares out of the window and watches the bustling city of Miami lively past midnight. A view to take in but all would end as an explosion can be seen from the distance. No more of the nightlife vibe as the sounds of people screaming and sirens soon fill the atmosphere. Smoke from the explosion expands more and fires ignite. The Silhouette grabs the hems of blacken curtains and slowly closes. Taking a step back, it would turn on its heels and stares at the door.

A knock can be heard and the creaking of the heavy door opening follows. A man stands by the door with the blinding lights shining behind him. The Silhouette only stares at the man, not saying a word. The tension would seem thick but this is how it goes. He leans against the door and tilts his head a little, seeming like he is waiting for _it_ to say something. The man breaks after a few minutes of silence, "Quite the talker." the man said, "Anyway, the two fucks had it coming. It doesn't matter, we already took the stolen goods. Almost a million dollars' worth of cocaine, can you believe it? Surprising that they almost managed to stay under your radar." He let out a scoff and crosses his arms over his chest. _It_ only stares, "Not gonna say anything?" He narrows his eyes, "Hey, we have to get moving." some feminine voice says. "Right." He slowly nods, "I'll see you around." The man pushes himself off the door, backing up, and lazily closes the door. 


	2. Escape

It is quite the experience of running away from a group of men trying to kill you. Imagine this; you work for some mafia, task you to do something shady, and someone rats you out because they don't like you. This is how a woman name Müşerref got herself in this situation. A woman that immigrated to the States when she was only 10. Got herself involved in the notorious mafias in New York City when she was only 12. Got to make some money on the side. Currently, she is 24 and lives on her own. 12 years going strong for working with the Turkish Mafia. Interesting, isn’t it?

Back to the chase, Müşerref is running from a couple of pissed of men from some gang. The gang has no affiliation with her or her mafia. Just some people in the gang hates her guts. She runs down the alleyways, making sharp turns as she goes, climb over fences, and the persistent men still pursuits. “Persistent bastards.” She said under her breath as she glances back at them. She comes to a sudden halt as there is no other way to go. She quickly turns around to see the men slowing down and taking deep breaths. “Look, let's just call this a day, yeah? I don’t know what Dean wants.” She said putting her hands on her hips. She is quite the sassy woman, does not take things lightly, and gets what she wants even if it comes back to bite her on the ass.

Müşerref is wearing black cargo pants, black and white Nike shoes, gray sweater, and light gray fingerless gloves. She is 5’5 foot tall, lean body, hazel eyes, dark brown medium length hair that is full of volume and wavy, slightly tan complexion, and an eye-sore vertical scar. The scar starts on the top of her left side cheekbone down to her collar bone. It's really hard to miss and covering it is almost an impossible job. She is of Turkish descent and is proud to be one. Anyway, the men glance at each other and back at her. Completely ignoring what she said moments ago and lunges at her with deadly knives out. “You honestly leave me with no choice, huh?” She lightly chuckles and at high speeds, she somehow slips past the two and stands behind them. The two men stun to see this as they skid to a stop and turn to look at her. She tosses her trusty bowie knife in the air and catches it by its handle, “Wow, you guys are quite slow.” She taunts, “I am literally half of your guy’s size, this should be easy!” She tilts her head a bit to the side and rubs her chin, “Granted, guys with your size can be speedy. Guess it takes skill.” She smirks and stares at the two, obviously annoyed, men.

One of the men didn’t like her banter and advances, jutting out his knife and try to attempt to stab her in the chest. Müşerref sidesteps quickly and slashes her bowie across his side. The man lets out a grunt, grits his teeth, and steps away rather quickly. The other man comes charging towards her and slams her against the brick building wall. She lets out a pained grunt and frustrated groan. The man holds her by her neck and before he can send his knife flying down on her face, she drives her bowie right into his forearm. She quickly pulls out the bowie and slashes him across his face. All of these causes him to let go of her. “You almost had me their buddy.” She grins. Suddenly, sirens can be heard. She internally curses to herself and quickly looks around to see some means of escape. The two men start to recover, and they look very livid. She spots a ladder that’s eight feet off the ground, “Bingo.” She said quietly and quickly runs to the ladder. She propels herself off the wall and reaches to grab onto the bottom part of the ladder. She pulls herself up to start climbing but no escape will ever be that easy, right? Correct, the two men finally recovers and is sick and tired. They just have one job: to kill her. They take out their pistols and take aim at her. They didn’t care about the sirens close by and unloads the clip. She nearly falls but in the best efforts, she climbs for her life.

The gunshots die down as the two men were arrested. Müşerref reaches the roof and lets out a deep sigh. She lays down on her back and moves her head to the side. Her eyes bless by the setting sun, the shades of the sunsets, and the abyssal darkness that will soon cover New York City. She slightly smiles as she takes in the view and slowly sits up. A sudden pang of pain hits her right side, and she hesitantly puts her hand over it. She slowly retracts her arm and looks down at her hand and sees some blood. “Shit.” She mutters and puts her hand back on the wound. Looking back at the sunset, her vision starts to fade slightly. Her body sways as her eyes felt heavy, the blood would seep more out of her hands, and staining more of her clothes. She falls back onto the ground, growing weaker by the second, and finally, her visions slowly start to fade. Before she went unconscious, what looks to be like a man walks up to her and looks down. His head tilting a bit and possibly a disappointing look on his face. And with that, poor Müşerref goes unconscious.

* * *

Müşerref wakes up in a dimly lit room. She gently rubs her eyes and slowly sits up. She lets out a sharp and quiet exhale and puts her hand on her right side and feels slight pain. She felt the bandages and slightly cringes, "Every time." she huffs and grabs onto the metal bar. Heaving herself up onto her feet she immediately looks at the nearby mirror. Walking closer, she checks herself out. Just the patch on her right side, bloody dark gray shirt, and the same old pants and shoes. She turns to look back at the bed and sees her gray bloody sweater and groans, "I just got that a few days ago." Müşerref rubs her face and walks to the door. Opening it, she immediately stops moving and her face is fixed on a shock expression. The man that helped her stands only a few feet away from her. He looks down on her, his facial expression does not give out any hints of emotions. His stature is 6'10, mesomorph, broad shoulders, blonde hair, blue eyes, decent facial hair, sharp features, and most notably: the two parallel long scars across his face's center. Quite the intimidating person. An intimidating Icelandic. He is wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, a black belt, and boots. Some of his tattoos are shown only a little on his left forearm but it goes along his chest. It is the tattoo of Jörmungandr.

"Wha- how?" She stammers, "Müşerref, you're really easy to find." His voice is bold, low, and does not have much dynamics. "Your attempts to cover up your tracks are getting sloppier every time you move places." She only rolls her eyes and walks to the left of him to get to the living room. "So? I'm still kicking, aren't I?" The man grabs her arm and forces her to turn to face him. He looks dead in her eyes, "It will get you killed." His grip on her arm tightens, she tries to pull away, "Let go, Egill." She demands. Egill, the man's name, harshly let's go. She sits down on the couch, she brings her legs close to her chest and runs her fingers through her hair. Egill still looks at her, looking ever so mad. "Thanks for patching me up." She places her elbow on the armrest and plants her chin on her palm. "I mean it." she glances at him. His expressions somewhat soften up but still keeps his madden expression on his face. He simply nods and turns to walk into the narrow hallway.

Müşerref only sighs and leans back into the couch. She tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling, pondering if Egill was right to what he said. Perhaps she is neglecting to cover her own tracks hence why everyone suddenly is out to kill her. She simply shrugs and grabs the remote to turn on the TV. Only to fill the soundless atmosphere with some mediocre show.


	3. Fiery Drug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Mention of Drugs

The first thing that is seen is a shabby looking wooden table with messy lines of cocaine, rolled-up dollar bills, a stack of Benjamin's, knocked over pill bottles, and a messy ashtray. The room smells like marijuana and of drug-induced sex. The atmosphere of this run-down apartment room reeks years of drugs, sex, abuse, and neglect. It's pretty much some hideout that no one really expects. A man is on the couch stained with booze, sweat, and questionable fluids. His arm rests around the spine of the couch, his back against the left side corner, one leg up on the cushions, and the other leg off the couch. He is basically sprawled out on the couch with a half-smoked joint between his right side fingers. He is also completely shirtless and only wearing a bad pair of jeans. His body looks well-built. A drug user like him taking good care of his body is quite ironic, expecting them to look skinny or fat. His curly, short black hair is somewhat greasy. His olive complexion is unfortunately covered in minor scars scattering around his body. No tattoo in sight. Looking like he is of Greek descent.

"Wake the fuck up." A feminine voice said and a pillow smacking the man. The man jerks back a bit and groggily wakes up. "The hell do you want?" His voice is raspy and slowly sits up. He hugs the pillow, rubs his eye, and looks up to the woman. "The money." She said blankly. The woman's attire screams prostitute. Short shorts, a very revealing tank top, and heals. "It's on the fucking table you dumb broad." He scoffs and reaches for a lighter in his pocket and lights the joint that was left in his hand. "Take it and go." He gestures to the door and takes a drag of the joint. The woman snags a $100 bill from the stack and glares at the man. She was about to say something but shakes her head, "Bye." with that, she exits the room. The man rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch, enjoying his almost gone joint. After he finished, he gets up and stretches his back, "Goddamn." He yawns and slowly walks to the bathroom. He runs the sink and washes his face with cold water. Turning off the water, he grabs a nearby towel and wipes his face dry. A buzz of a phone can be heard on the kitchen counter, and he quickly makes his way to it. He picks up:

"What's up."

_"Where the fuck are you?"_

"Oh, right." The man rubs his face and sighs, "I took a nap. Still at my shit hole place."

_"Really? Fuck some prostitute, huh? You dirty man whore, you're making one of our clients wait for you, dumbass."_

"He can fucking wait, relax. I'll be there in a few." He hangs up and stuffs his phone in his back pocket. He groans and messes with his hair. "Always busy."

* * *

The man walks out of his apartment with his hands stuffed in his front pockets. He is wearing a leather jacket, jeans, boots, and a backpack. His brown eyes scan the surroundings and pick up the pace. Within a few minutes, he walks into a run down mechanic shop. He is greeted by some men in fancy black suits and the supposed client that is wearing a red suit instead. "Sorry for my acquaintance being so late." The mad said that is wearing red flannel and jeans. He has black hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and only around 5'11. "You got it?" He said looking at the Greek man. He simply nods and takes off his backpack once he is standing next to the blue eye friend. His friend looks smaller compared to the man. The olive-skinned man is 6'8 after all. "How much does it weigh, Infernum?" The blue eye man said to him. Infernum, the Greek man, looks at the red suit man, "Eight kilograms, Dean." He said glancing at his blue eye friend. "Eight kilograms of pure cocaine," Infernum said with a smirk and looks back at them, "My specialty." He winks and hands the back to the red suit man. "Be careful." The red suit man takes the bag and hands a briefcase full of money to him.

Dean and Infernum watch the men in fancy suits leave the run down mechanic shop. Infernum places the briefcase on the table and looks at Dean. "You could have stopped by at my place and picked up the drugs," Infernum said and leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "Unless you wanted me to be by your side," he smirks. Dean shoots a glare at him, "Fuck you. You're the supplier, you give me a name and reputation. Plus, it is simply business." Dean sits on the table next to the briefcase. "Or..." Infernum pushes himself off the wall and walks closer to Dean. He stands in front of him and the corners of his lips tug to form a smug smile, "You love having me around." Dean only scoffs and looks at the side, "We've been friends for years. Been through shit together." He nudges the blue eye man. "You're in love with me, admit it." He nudges again, "I get it, just fuck off." He waves him off and slides off the table, "Take your share and leave." Dean moves away from him and stands near the wall, "Alright." Infernum mutters and opens the briefcase. He puts a few stacks on the table and shuts it. "If you're ever alone and bored I'm close by." He grabs the handle of the briefcase and walks out of the shop.

* * *

Infernum sits on his couch and puts the briefcase on the shabby wooden table. He takes out his phone and glances through his notifications. Some death threats, spam mail, suspicious texts, missed calls, but one thing catches his eye: a missed call from his sister. "Fuck." He calls the number and puts the phone next to his ear. His left leg starts to bounce and chews on his fingernails. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..." The call goes straight to voice mail and pulls away from his phone. He stares at the screen, "You're a fucking idiot, Infernum." He huffs and places his phone on the table. He runs his fingers through his hair and leans back into the couch. He eyes the pills on the table and the sudden urge to consume them hits. He succumbs and picks up a few pills. Staring at them, his vision tunnels. He tilts his head back and drops the pills into his mouth. Swallowing, he looks back down at the table and grins. "Only live once, right?" Infernum lightly chuckles and lays on his side. He picks up a fresh joint on the table and lights it.

His gaze would shift to the nearby balcony. As the moon rises, the shining lights of New York City glimmers: The city that never sleeps. He leans his head back to rest on the armrests of the couch. He takes a long drag of the joint and slowly exhales. The smoke clouds his vision and his eyes start to feel heavy. He rests his hand's on top of his chest and lets his eyes shut.

* * *

_The toxins flowing within my bloodstream is my way of grieving. Please understand that, my love._


End file.
